


Crossing the River

by YoungestThunderbird



Series: Arcadia [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Canon Divergence, F/M, Found Family, Gen, I suddenly want to write more of Tiny!Anakin and Beardless!Obi-wan, Lessons learned, Prequel, death to Palpatine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:15:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26984272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoungestThunderbird/pseuds/YoungestThunderbird
Summary: Five flaps of the butterfly wing; or, four lessons that Anakin Skywalker learned, and when he applied them.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Shmi Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Series: Arcadia [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939405
Comments: 15
Kudos: 455





	Crossing the River

**Author's Note:**

> It's been niggling at me for a while now, to try and pin down when Exodus Flight differed from canon. I won't say this is the only event that happened differently, but this is a good chunk of it anyway.

Shmi Skywalker looked at her son and smiled. Anakin was only four, but he was a helpful child, and very loving to his family. And extraordinarily curious. 

“Mom? Why is the sky blue? Why is the sand brown? Why do we make our house with clay? Why is the sun yellow but the moon white?” He asked, as well as about a thousand other questions a day. She answered as best she could, though sometimes the answers were a little vague or even whimsical. 

“The sky’s blue because of the color of air; the sand’s brown because of the rocks the sand is made of, we make our house with clay because there isn’t wood available, and maybe the sun and moon are different colors because that’s their favorite colors,” she’d answer. 

Anakin would always nod and look at her like she hung the stars, and then run off with his friends again. She didn’t mind the questions; they were easy to answer, most of the time. It was the harder ones that gave her trouble. 

“Mom, why does Old Man Riw not come to the market anymore?”

“Because he died, Anakin. He has passed beyond sight, into the winds of the desert.”

“Mom, why does Watto tell us what to do?”

“Because he can kill us if we don’t do what he tells us, Ani, and no one would stop him.”

This question, however, was the most difficult so far. 

“Mom, why are you so happy?! Wreet is going away! We won’t ever see her again! You have to be sad!”

Wreet was one of the slave children, a small Weequay girl with a talent for rhymes. She was only enslaved recently, as those things go; she had been kidnapped off of her uncle’s ship. She still remembered her old life, and her parents. 

Her parents still remembered her, too, as they had come and freed her after looking for her for two straight years. She was going home. And Anakin, poor sweet clinging Anakin, did not understand. 

“I am happy because Wreet is going to a much better place, where she won’t be made to work in the sun until she falls down anymore,” Shmi murmured, as they watched the happy family board their ship. 

“But we won’t see her anymore!” Anakin was still upset, but he did not cry. Crying was a waste of water. 

“No, we won’t. But if we kept her here, away from her family, would she be happy?” Shmi said, gently, after thinking for a while. 

“No,” Anakin replied quietly. 

“Would it be right?”

“No.”

“That’s very wise of you to see that, Anakin. The reason is because you love her; she was your friend,” Shmi replied, and hesitated a bit. This next part was very important, and she wasn’t sure how to say it, but she continued anyway. 

“Real love, the true kind that’s stronger than anything, isn’t holding on to someone and refusing to let go. It’s doing what’s best for someone, even if it hurts you; it’s doing what is right,” she finished. 

“But I want to be near her!” Anakin said vehemently. 

“That’s not love, Ani, that’s selfishness. Would you rather her to be miserable, and near you, or happy very far away? The highest form of love is putting the happiness and needs of a person above yours, and even above them being near you.”

Anakin stared off into the desert sky, where Wreet had disappeared. 

“Alright, Mom, I understand,” he said sadly, yet thoughtfully. 

Her dear son. She hugged him to her, and then went about her work. 

...

Obi-wan Kenobi was miserable. Absolutely, positively, sick-as-an-akk-dog feeling awful. Which was bad for multiple reasons, first of all being that he did not like feeling awful. The unfortunate second one being that he had a nine-year-old apprentice to keep out of trouble and he could not afford to stay in bed all day like he desperately wanted to. Distant third was the homework for the Padawans classes he still had to finish, as well as making sure Anakin did his homework too. 

It wasn’t that Anakin tried to get into trouble. He actually was a fairly good child, and tried his hardest to please the adults around him. It was mostly that he was a child from a much more rural city than Coruscant, and that he was quite intelligent and curious. It was Obi-wan’s job to answer Anakin’s questions, and make sure he was safe, and look after him. He’d promised Qui-gon. 

And if he desperately wanted to not be alone, well, it wasn’t like it was his only motivation. It wasn’t selfishness if it benefited another as well as yourself, right?

Anakin even loved him back, which warmed a small hidden part of him that he was currently blaming on the fever. 

The poor child was incredibly worried, even though Bant had given Obi-wan a check-up and pronounced him to have the common flu. He’d been quiet all day, sitting by Obi-wan’s bed and making him some soup to get better. The soup had even helped, a bit, though it tasted more than a little odd. 

However, he knew that Anakin needed to get out of the apartment or he’d start to go stir-crazy. For a small boy who was used to having the run of a decent-sized town, being confined to an apartment was stifling. 

He ran through his options in his mind. Option one, allow Anakin out with no supervision. He shuddered to think of what would happen. Option two, keep Anakin in the apartment. He didn’t want to do that to Anakin; he’d been so good all day, and he was getting fidgety. If he broke something accidentally, Obi-wan knew his temper was short enough right now that he would yell at Anakin, even if it wasn’t Anakin’s fault. He didn’t want that. Option three, outside help. He could call one of his friends and have them supervise Anakin on an excursion out. 

He hated to bother his friends. But he wanted Anakin to be able to go outside safely. The two sides of himself warned against each other, and finally his protectiveness of Anakin won. 

Who to call? He’d already bothered Bant today, and there was no way he was trusting Quinlan with his little brother, no, remember the Code, Anakin was his apprentice. He wouldn’t trust Quinlan with his apprentice, who knew what would happen. 

Siri was off on a mission, and so was Garen. Reeft would have a grand time with Anakin, but Anakin was still a bit touchy about people taking his food away, so perhaps Reeft was not quite the right temporary guardian. 

That left Luminara. He hated to bother her, but she had expressed that she could help him at any time. She had strangely intense eyes when she told him that. 

“Luminara Unduli,” she answered her comm. 

“Hello, ‘Nara, this is Obi-wan. I’m sick, but I want Anakin to get out for a little while. Would you mind watching him just for an hour or so?” He asked. 

Luminara smiled gently at him. And if that made him happy, well, that must also be the fever. 

“Of course. Does Anakin like the Room of a Thousand Fountains?” She asked. 

“He loves it. He especially likes the fountain pools. Don’t let him swim in them, yet, he’s not quite up to the task. He just learned swimming two weeks ago,” Obi-wan rambled. 

“I understand, Obi,” Luminara cut him off gently, “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

He looked over to Anakin, who was watching him with bright eyes. 

“I’ll be fine, Obi-wan! You don’t need to bother someone for me!” The boy insisted. 

Well, this needed to be corrected. Anakin did not need the problems Obi-wan had with asking for help. 

“It’s always okay to ask for help from friends, Anakin. No true friend will hold asking against you, or hesitate to help you out of a dark place if they can. I promise, I will always listen when you ask. I may not be able to help, but I will listen,” he managed to get somewhat coherently out. 

Anakin gave him a tentative smile. 

Luminara showed up at the door, and took Anakin away with a tranquil smile.

Obi-wan couldn’t tell you how long, exactly, they were gone. He mostly slept, restlessly, with red lightsabers haunting his dreams. He woke up to Luminara checking his temperature with the back of her hand against his forehead. She took her hand away as soon as she noticed he’d was awake. 

He groaned, though at the disturbance to his sleep or at the loss of human contact he’d rather not say. 

“Your fever broke, Obi, you’re no longer contagious,” she said gently, “You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“An’kin?” He slurred. 

Luminara nodded to the lump at the foot of his bed. 

“You have a devoted Padawan. Not even sleep keeps him from you. I introduced him to all our friends and his question was still when he could get back to you,” she smiled. 

“C’n you make sure he doesn’t fall off th’ bed?” Obi-wan questioned tiredly. He got up to have a quick sonic shower, and by the time he got back, Anakin was sleeping in the bed where Obi-wan had been. He couldn’t help a disgruntled groan at the disappearance of his comfortable sleeping spot. 

Luminara laughed, bid her goodbyes, and turned the light out as she left. 

Obi-wan waited until he heard his door click, sighed, and nudged Anakin over to crawl in bed beside him. He knew it was against the Code, but it was just for one night. He needed to remind himself of his job, to remind himself to his promise to his Master. 

He needed to remind himself of the promise he made to himself, years and years ago, long before he had even heard of Anakin Skywalker. He had promised himself, as a hurting young Padawan, that when he had a Padawan of his own, that child would never doubt that they were cared for. They would never be left behind, and they would know they were not second best. 

He curled slightly around Anakin, just enough to suggest reassurance but not enough to make Anakin feel trapped. He had promised himself, when he was young and emotional, that his Padawan would know they were loved. 

That he was carrying out that foolish promise now, he blamed on the fever. 

...

Padmé was recovering from the week she’d had. An assassination attempt, a whirlwind vacation at Varykino, a failed rescue mission, another failed rescue mission, being rescued from the rescue mission, a battle, the beginning of a war. She missed the Padmé of a week ago. Her biggest worries were whether to hide as a fighter pilot or as a handmaiden. 

She missed Cordé. 

Anakin, beside her on the trip back to Naboo, was quiet too, probably also grieving. Many Jedi had been killed at Geonosis. And his mother had died this week as well. 

She still remembered when he had stumbled back to the Lars homestead, his mother’s body in his arms. He had buried her before he came inside, and then immediately come in and taken a sonic. He wouldn’t let her touch him, even, before he cleaned himself. 

“I’m ritually unclean,” he explained distantly, “I’ve touched the dead.”

Even when he returned from the fresher, he was distant. His eyes looked at something she couldn’t see. She had sat him down, gently, and held his hand as he spilled his soul. 

“She told me she loved me, and ‘Ariniryul te,’” He said, with an odd lilting accent on the words she didn’t know. 

“It’s a secret language, I haven’t thought about it since I was nine; it means that she wants me to carry her in my soul,” he continued. 

This had the weight of a great mysticism about it. 

“What does that mean?” She murmured. 

“She wants me to remember her, and honor her memory and her traditions, and to love her as if she was still here,” Anakin replied, starting to crumble, “I came so close to failing.”

“How?” She asked, gently. 

“I killed them! I killed every adult in that camp, all the ones who ever laid a hand on her. And then I almost went too far, I almost killed the children,” he started at a scream, and ended at a whimper. 

“I almost killed them, Padmé, but I heard her whispering still, to carry her, and I couldn’t. I can’t carry her in my soul if it’s tainted. And nothing taints the soul like killing the innocent,” he whispered in horror. 

Padmé was standing at the edge of something she did not entirely understand. She took a deep breath, and stepped over. 

“But you stopped. You went up the abyss, and looked into it, and did not allow it to look into you. My people have a saying; demons run when a good man goes to war. But just because a man goes to war, he doesn’t stop being good. He only stops being good when he looks at the demons too long and imitates them,” she told him. 

Anakin had nodded, and cried for a while. She had held him, and then they had gotten Master Kenobi’s distress signal and the entire world turned even more upside down than it already was. 

She reached over to put her hand on Anakin’s shoulder, and he looked back at her with wide eyes. He was incredibly awkward with her, but beneath that there was love, love enough to outshine a star. She couldn’t help but be attracted to that. 

“Your mother, and everyone you love, will be with you as long as you have your soul,” she murmured to him, “Including me.”

He looked at her, and gently, hesitantly, held his hand out. She took it in hers. 

“And Cordé is with you, I think,” he said thoughtfully. 

She nodded. 

He smiled impishly. 

“We’ll just have to ask them not to look for a moment,” he said, and kissed her thoroughly. 

She sincerely hoped no one was watching after that. 

...

Anakin was incredibly excited. He was a knight! He had finally completed his apprenticeship with Obi-wan, and had become an independent practitioner of his craft! And he had Obi-wan back, after thinking he and Alpha were dead for three months! 

It was probably the second-best day of his life, after his wedding. It had taken self-control not to hug Obi-wan in the Council chamber, after he had cut his braid. But, well, he’d see Obi-wan at dinner, as they still shared quarters. He made a quick trip to Padmé’s, but didn’t stay too long, even though he desperately wanted to; Obi-wan definitely was expecting him. 

He walked into their apartment, only to find Obi-wan at the small kitchenette, making his favorite meal, a meat curry with Tattoonian and Mandalorian spices. He looked up and smiled, gently, as Anakin hugged him. 

“Congratulations, no-longer-my-Padawan,” He said teasingly, “Though I imagine I will still slip up from time to time and refer to you as such for a while.”

“I don’t mind, Master,” Anakin said, sitting down with his Master; they ate quietly, companionably. However, when they finished their food, Obi-wan beckoned him over to the couch, and sat across from him in the chair. 

“I was hoping to talk with you, Anakin,” he murmured. 

Anakin’s first thought was that he was in trouble. Obi-wan must have sensed it over the bond, because he shook his head with a rueful smile. 

“You’re not in trouble, but we need to go over our lineage,” he said. 

Anakin grimaced internally. This was a topic they both avoided; it was painful. 

“I would like to register you, in our lineage, as my Padawan-brother, rather than my Padawan,” Obi-wan said neutrally. 

Anakin was mostly confused. 

“Why wouldn’t I be your Padawan, Master? You’ve taught me for almost ten years now,” he said, starting to be somewhat hurt. 

“Anakin, do you remember when you first arrived at the Temple, and Qui-gon took you as his apprentice before the Council?” Obi-wan said, with an air of great difficulty. 

“The Council refused that, you were still his Apprentice at the time, even if you were ready for the Trials,” Anakin objected. 

Obi-wan gave a small, wry smile. 

“I’m touched by your faith in me, Anakin,” he murmured, “But I was not ready.”

“I could have had no better Master than you, not even Qui-gon!” Anakin said I passionately. 

Obi-wan gave him a look of wonder. It made Anakin’s chest hurt. Had he really forgotten to tell Obi-wan that?

“I... still consider you to be Qui-gon’s apprentice, before you were mine,” he said hesitantly, “And as such, you are my Padawan-brother. I don’t wish to be the last of Qui-gon Jinn’s padawans.”

The veiled reference to Feemor and Xanatos hung heavily in the air.

“But if I was taken as apprentice while you were still his apprentice, that means he repudiated you,” Anakin objected, “And that can’t be how you want to remember your Master.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time, Anakin, Qui-gon had a habit of leaving me behind,” Obi-wan was working much too hard to prevent himself hunching his shoulders. 

Anakin growled to himself, thinking of all the wonderful and terrible stories he had been told as a young Padawan of the great Master Qui-gon Jinn and his adventures in saving entire worlds and leaving others in the lurch. Often, that other was Obi-wan. 

“He shouldn’t have done that,” he muttered, “You never put me below the mission.”

Obi-wan froze. 

“It wasn’t that I was less valuable than the mission,” he said hesitantly, “It’s that I was less valuable than someone else.”

“Less... valuable...” Anakin was flabbergasted, “You’re not less valuable than anyone!”

“Thank you, Anakin,” Obi-wan murmured, “Even Qui-gon thought that. But he was an intensely emotional man, and when one of his loved ones was hurt, or hurt him, he... panicked, I suppose, and could only something assuage the hurt. It’s why I try never to put any person above another; it always hurts someone. Most of the time, it hurts everyone.”

Obi-wan shouldn’t be this sad, when thinking about his apprenticeship. Anakin was happy, thinking about his. Obi-wan deserved to be cared about when he was young, as well as now. 

Anakin held out his hand and gently touched his Master on the shoulder. 

Obi-wan sighed, and continued. 

“I was too young to be a real Master, Anakin. I leaned on you more than a Master should their apprentice.”

“Yeah, you never would have passed your Advanced Mechanics final without me,” Anakin sniggered. 

Obi-wan gave him a exasperated, irritated, and yet fond look. 

“Yes, Anakin, your homework help was invaluable. But I let us grow more attached to one another than I should have.”

Anakin shrugged. 

“I’m attachment prone, it would have happened eventually,” he replied, “And nothing you say or do will convince me you are not a good Master, so you’d probably better drop this line of discussion.”

Obi-wan conceded. 

“I’ll call you my brother,” Anakin continued, “And you’ll call me yours, and we take care of each other, like we always have. The names aren’t important, so long as we take care of each other.”

Obi-wan nodded, looking touched.

“Ner Vod,” he whispered. My brother, in Mandalorian, the language of their men, the language that Obi-wan spend the most independent and emotional year of his life speaking.

“Ner Vod,” Anakin replied. He contemplated using the secret language, but Mandalorian had greater meaning to both of them.

He put his arms around Obi-wan and held him close. Obi-wan didn’t object or stop the hug for quite some time.

...

Standing in the office of the monster running the Republic, Anakin was conflicted. Who should he choose- the man who had been his mentor since he was nine, or the man who had been stern and unyielding for the same amount of time? The man who knew nothing about his wife, or the man who knew his every fear for her? The beautiful lie or the ugly truth?

“Come to your senses, boy. The Jedi are in revolt. They will betray you, just as they betrayed me,” Palpatine appealed. 

“They’re my family!” Anakin exclaimed, almost without conscious thought, unseeing of the raised eyebrow that expression garnered from Master Windu. Unfortunately, that moment of distraction cost him a good knock on the head and a minute of unconsciousness. 

“Am I not also your family? Choose! Only I will help your wife!” The Chancellor growled. 

“Don’t you want your wife with you forever? Don’t you want her to never leave?” Palatine taunted, “No one else will help you! Join me, join the Sith, defeat the Jedi, and your wife will be saved!”

Anakin’s mind whirled. He couldn’t focus on anything, but suddenly voices from his past whispered again in his ears. 

‘Real love, the true kind that’s stronger than anything, isn’t holding on to someone and refusing to let go... it’s doing what is right.’

‘It’s always okay to ask for help from friends. No true friend will... hesitate to help you out of a dark place if they can.’

‘Your mother, and everyone you love, will be with you as long as you have your soul.’ 

“Never... put any person above another; it always hurts someone. Most of the time, it hurts everyone.’

Palpatine was a Sith. The Sith did not let go; they forced others to their will. They did wrong. Palatine wanted him to do wrong, to put one part of his family over the other, to hurt his family. Palpatine wanted him to forfeit his soul. 

“No,” Anakin growled, suddenly very dangerously, “I will not join you.”

“Then you will die! A lone Jedi is no match for the Sith!” Palpatine screeched. 

“But he’s not alone,” cut in Mace Windu, who had regained consciousness and his grasp on his lightsaber. 

The fight that followed was intense. Even Anakin and Windu, two of the premier swordmasters of the Jedi Order, were hard-pressed to keep up, mostly because they were unused to each other’s fighting styles. Finally, though, they had the old man cornered. 

Palpatine knew his end was near. He pulled a commlink from his robes and spat into it. 

“Execute Order Sixty-si-Ack!” He started purposefully, only to end with an involuntary croak as Anakin’s lightsaber went through his torso. Master Windu destroyed the comm. 

Palpatine died without fanfare, without the dramatics he so loved. The only living things left in the office, Windu and Anakin, stared down at the corpse of the Supreme Chancellor and secret Sith. 

“There is much less darkness in the galaxy,” Windu intoned, before turning his lightsaber off and walking to the door, looking back only once. 

“Come, Master Skywalker, we have much to do.”


End file.
